


Picture Perfect

by WinJennster



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Destiel - Freeform, F/M, M/M, Mind Control, Soul Magic, Witches, dubcon, eventual hotness and smut, slow build destiel, through witchiness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-26
Updated: 2013-09-27
Packaged: 2017-12-21 09:18:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/898578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WinJennster/pseuds/WinJennster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Misty Falls, LA looks like a perfect little town. But Sam and Dean Winchester are about to find out that looks can be deceiving. A very powerful witch wants Dean for her own, and she's determined to claim him. But what she doesn't know, and Dean hasn't even admitted to himself yet, is that his heart-and his soul-already belongs to someone else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Welcome to Suburbia

**Author's Note:**

> Some of you may remember this story from the last time I published it. I lost the story, had no idea where it was going, then I had a dream the other night about it, only with major changes. So it went from being a Gen fic to a slow-building, canon-divergent Destiel. Sit back and enjoy the ride, I think this is gonna be fun. (Just a warning. It will not update as fast as Cooking with Gas did. I have two Big Bangs, a move, and the CWG Drabbles to work on as well.)

It was one of those perfect neighborhoods, straight out of storybook, or a Lifetime movie, and it only took about a minute for his brother to start cracking Wisteria Lane jokes and comparing the ladies' assets to Teri Hatcher's and wonder out loud who had bodies in their deep freeze.

A long, meandering lane, sprawling Antebellum mansions on both sides, huge, beautifully manicured lawns, magnolia trees and live oaks dripping with Spanish moss, with the most perfect people wandering about, everyone seeming to know each other, smiles, handshakes, and pats on the back abounding, and the whole thing was making Sam Winchester's skin crawl.

Misty Falls, Louisiana, perfect little 'burg about twenty minutes north of New Orleans, was saccharin-sweet and picturesque.

In another lifetime, back in the Stanford days, a scene like this would have warmed his heart. He might have imagined walking down the lane himself, the respectable lawyer, his beautiful blonde wife pushing a baby carriage beside him, the little angel inside blessed with Jess's good looks, and Sam's hazel eyes. Uncle Dean would roll up on the weekends, and scandalize the whole neighborhood with his bad boy charm, classic car, and loud music.

Actually, they'd only been there about ten minutes, and Dean was already doing a damn good job of scandalizing the neighborhood.

Dean had rolled all the windows down, and was on the second loop of Metallica's Saint Anger album, on the titular song, and " _fuck it all, fuckin' no regrets_ " was pouring loudly from the POS car-of-the-week's anemic speakers. Several of the neighbors had already delivered withering stares as they drove past, but Sam made absolutely no move to turn it down.

Turning it down would mean a reiteration of what Dean called "The Cakehole Rule" and then he would jack it up even louder. Sam's ears were close to bleeding as it was. Instead, he fixed Dean with his most disapproving stare, hoping his brother would get the message and take care of the volume himself.

But then again, for such a savvy hunter, Dean did have his oblivious moments, and the volume stayed where it was.

And really, Sam knowing where Dean was mentally, he probably wouldn't have said anything, what with Bobby's death, and Sam's near-miss looming in the rearview. And don't, no matter what, bring up Cas. That wound was just far too raw for Dean to even begin to deal with. There was something going on there, something deeper than friendship, and for the first time, Sam really started to wonder about his brother's relationship with the angel.

Something had happened between them, that much was clear, but Cas was back at the hospital where he'd saved Sam, and he didn't know them anymore. And Dean wasn't talking about it.

So if he wanted his music loud enough to hear three streets over, Sam was ok with that. Really, he was ok with anything that offered Dean a modicum of peace, even if it meant making enough noise to drown out the screams in his brother's head.

Dean pulled the rust bucket (Sam didn't even know what kind of car it was) into a parking spot in front of the perfect little diner in the perfect little center of town. Sam unfolded himself from the tiny car, (really, couldn't Dean have jacked something a _little_ bigger?), and stretched out to his full height, ignoring all the cracking sounds his back made.

"Ah, Sammy, small town livin'! Guy could get used to this!" Dean smiled, as he pulled himself out of the car, and caught the eye of a redhead strolling by, in her pretty white dress, but she didn't give him a second look. He sighed. "This car. This friggin' piece of crap. A guy has needs! And this car does nothing for me in that department! Dammit, I need my baby back."

Another adjustment bugging the hell out of his brother: the loss of his beloved 1967 Chevrolet Impala. He'd been advised to get rid of her after a couple of big mouths ran across the country shooting up banks and diners wearing Sam and Dean's faces and driving a perfect replica of Baby.

Apparently, it was Dean's year to have everything he loved stripped away. Everything he had left, at any rate.

Sam pulled open the door to the diner, and held it for Dean, who was still sulking about the slight from the girl. A smell like home-cooked heaven swept over them, and Dean moaned softly behind him.

"God, I smell pie. Fresh pie. Dude." Dean looked around, as if trying to find the source, and a pretty blonde girl in a white fifties-style waitress' uniform walked by them, a whole steaming pie on her tray. She smiled pleasantly at them with cherry red lips and Dean's eyes widened. "Whoa," he whispered reverently.

"Girl or pie?"

"Hmm, girl or pie, pie or girl?" Dean grinned. "I don't know…umm…both?" Dean's eyes followed her across the diner, widening a little more when she bent over slightly and her tiny skirt rode up a bit. "I am _definitely_ choosing both."

Sam rolled his eyes, and led the way to the nearest booth, folding his long legs under the table and wincing when his knee made contact with the table's leg.

Sliding into the other side of the booth, Dean snatched a menu out of the condiment tray and disappeared behind it, while Sam pulled his laptop out of the case and powered it up. While he waited for the login screen to appear, Sam took in the diner. By far, it was the cleanest one the Winchesters had ever eaten in.

The walls were painted a soothing soft ivory, with pretty black and white prints of some of the town's landmarks hanging on the walls. The booths were deep red leather with oak tables. Potted plants hung everywhere. The counter was a sparkling mix of chrome, spotless white Formica, and chrome and red leather stools.

A gleaming chrome window presented a view of the perfectly clean kitchen, where a cook in a spotless uniform was putting dishes of the most appetizing food out for the waitresses, who were also spotlessly attired and ridiculously gorgeous. Besides the perfect blonde that Dean was still tracking with his eyes, there was a shapely brunette with peaches and cream skin, and a statuesque African American goddess with a thick mane of curly hair cascading down her back.

"Holy cow. Have you even looked at the menu? The burger selection alone…and the scenery, I mean…damn."

"Do they have a Cobb salad? That's what I want."

Huffing an exasperated sigh, Dean glanced through the menu again. "Yes, Samantha, they have a Cobb salad. You want me to order it with an extra side of prissiness, princess?"

"Shut up."

"Make me, bitch."

"Jerk."

The blonde sidled up to the table, notepad in hand, and smiled down at them, and Sam could see Dean practically melt.

"Hi, boys, I'm Clarissa. What can I get y'all today?"

Dean quickly busted out his lady killer grin.

"Well, hello there yourself, _Clarissa_ , I'm Dean, and this Sasquatch over here is Sam."

Sam rolled his eyes.

"Tell me, what is that amazin' smell that almost knocked me over when I came in here?"

Sam wasn't sure, but he thought Dean was actually trying to work in a little southern accent of his own. Like he needed anything else in his arsenal.

"Well, _Dean_ , that would be today's special, our cook's own Etouffee. He makes it fresh on Fridays, with crawfish fresh out of the Pontchartrain first thing this morning." She leaned in, deliberately giving Dean access to the view down her shirt. "Tell me sugah, do you like spicy food? You evah had Cajun cookin' before?"

"Mmm, I think I'd try anythin' you recommend, sweetheart."

Sam shook his head, disbelieving that Dean would actually fake an accent. Like he wasn't going to score the girl's phone number anyway.

"Well, then I will put in an order for you, with some of our homemade French bread. It's delish, and soaks up all the goodness at the bottom of the bowl." She finally turned to Sam, and smiled sweetly at him, but there was none of the flirt that she had been dripping on Dean. "What can I get you sugah?"

"He'll have a Cobb salad." Dean replied condescendingly.

Sam huffed. "Actually, Dean, I was thinking the Etouffee sounds pretty good, so I'll have what he's having, thanks."

Clarissa smiled. "Sounds good, be right up boys." She sauntered off to the kitchen, making it a point to make her walk as appealing as possible, and Dean took notice.

"Oh yeah, I am gonna enjoy this place."

"We do have a job here you know."

"I know."

"Might be good to do a little research."

"Don't worry, Sammy, I am researchin' right now."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Dude. What the hell is up with the accent?"

Dean finally turned back to Sam, shit-eating grin firmly in place. "She liked it."

"Whatever, man, but this place is just too…I don't know, I just want to get this done and get out of here."

"It's so nice though, maybe we could hang out awhile? Take a break, lay low." Dean's face darkened a bit. "I could use a break."

"That really you talking, Dean?" Sam took a good hard look at his brother, noticing how tired his eyes looked. No matter what Dean tried to hide, his eyes gave him away every time. Dean sighed and ran a hand down his face.

"Yeah, you know…just been kinda rough. Guess I am a little tired. Been a long couple of weeks and I'm just…I'm over it." Dean sighed again, leaned his elbow on the table and rested his chin on his hand. "It's ok, we'll do the hunt and get the hell out here." He looked out the window, and watched a family with a baby carriage walk by, the mom smiling and laughing up at the little boy perched on his dad's broad shoulders. Sam watched Dean watch them, and he was surprised to see the look that crossed his older brother's face.

One might say Dean looked…wistful.

Another second, and his walls went back up, and he turned to grin at Clarissa as she brought over their plates.

"Mmm, mmm, mmm, looks good enough to eat!" Dean flashed his lady-killer smile again, only this time, the grin didn't quite reach his eyes. "Food looks pretty good, too."

Clarissa smiled. "Oh it is, honey, it is indeed." She sat two tall glasses on the table. "And some of our Sweet Tea will be just the thing with that spicy goodness. Let me know if y'all need anythin' else."

"Oh you bet I will," Dean breathed.

Sam sighed.

This was going to be a long couple of days.

* * *

"Mmmgggdddsoooogggdddddd. Mmmmm."

"Really?"

"Smmygttatryyythss."

Dean's had three pieces of pie. He's had Apple, Cherry, and is halfway through a piece of Pecan. His appreciative moans became more and more orgasmic in nature as he ate, and Sam was so embarrassed, he wanted to go hide in the car.

Dean smacked his lips, the last piece finally gone, and he grinned happily at Sam.

"Dude. I feel like I just got bitch slapped…except I liked it!"

Sam fought the urge to roll his eyes again. He'd been trying so hard to get Dean to focus on the job they had come to town for in the first place. Dean seemed like he planned on parking at the diner all day and eating the "on the house" pie slices Clarissa kept bringing him.

"Dean, we really need to get going. The job's the next town over, and we still need to find a place to stay."

"Are y'all going to Coburn? There ain't no lodgin' over there. Be better off stayin' here in Misty Falls." Clarissa refilled their tea glasses from a glass pitcher, smiling at Dean the whole time. "Mrs. Lucille's is a good place to stay, and she doesn't charge much. You just tell her Clarissa sent y'all over."

"See, Sam? We should just stay here. No rush to leave." Dean gave Clarissa his most dazzling grin, and she fell for it, hook, line, and sinker, just like she had the previous twelve times he used it on her.

Sam rolled his eyes and shook his head. He might as well not even be sitting at the table. Dean only had eyes for Clarissa, or was at least pretending he did, and she'd only talked to Sam out of politeness. Sam shut his laptop with a grunt of frustration. There was no point in trying to get Dean to focus on a hunt in this mecca of pie and attractive women. He decided they'd go find "Miss Lucille's" and maybe once they were settled, he could get through to Dean.

Clarissa laid the bill on the table, with a huge smile for Dean included, and sure enough, her number was scrawled across the bottom. His brother paid the bill with cash, leaving a monster tip, and Clarissa thanked him prettily.

"So where can we find Miss Lucille's?" Sam asked.

"Just head out of here, and make a right, it's about a block down." She leaned over the table, her skirt reaching obscene levels, and whispered something in Dean's ear that made him blush slightly and grin like an idiot.

That's it. Sam had finally had enough, and he shoved all of his stuff back into his laptop bag. With a solid huff, he launched himself out of the table, and stalked to the front door, hoping Dean would follow.

* * *

She watched them from across the diner, her elegant fingers grasping the long handled ice tea spoon, stirring the liquid in the glass idly. Long, glossy black curls rolled over her shoulders, and her blue-violet eyes were cool and calculating as she silently observed them.

They were both attractive in the physical sense, well built, young, tall, and handsome. Both would make perfect additions to the town, really, but it was only the slightly shorter one she was interested in. There was something about the taller one that was off-putting. There was a darkness in his aura that troubled her. A taint, almost, and it was something she didn't think she could work around.

A shame really, he was incredible to look at. Very, very tall, broad shoulders and solid arms, muscles thick and well-defined, almost shoulder-length chestnut brown hair, long lashes framing eyes that were a beautiful hazel shade, green in some light, dark blue in others. At the moment, he was casting a disapproving look at his companion, whom she had deduced was his brother.

And that's who'd caught her attention.

The brother glowed. Like a house afire, a pure, white light shining from every aspect of him. His aura glittered in a rainbow of aqua, green, and softest pink. He was something incredibly special. And it wasn't just the glow, he was beautiful. His eyes were green, intense and fiery, and lined with the longest lashes. He had the prettiest mouth she'd ever seen on a man before, thick, full lips that tilted into a sexy grin or a cute little pout. A trail of freckles ran across his nose and cheekbones, and as he laughed at something the waitress said, he brushed a hand through his spiked light brown hair self-consciously, his cheeks turning slightly pink. There was something deeper to him as well, something lying under the surface that made a lie of his cheerful, carefree attitude.

He'd had his heart broken. And recently.

No matter, she could fix that. She could fix anything. Sure, he was a little rough around the edges in his worn jeans and old t-shirt, but she could work with that.

He was perfect. He was exactly what she needed.

And she fully intended to claim him.

* * *

Miss Lucille's turned out to be a lovely two-story brick home just about a block west of the diner. It was surrounded by a small yard with a white picket fence. The yard was completely full of flower beds, with one large magnolia tree filling one side. There was a large wrap-around porch with old fashioned rockers lined up in a neat row against the house's front wall.

Sam led the way up the stairs, happy that Dean had followed him out of the diner with a minimal amount of complaint, and he had to admit, Clarissa was right, this did look like a nice place to stay. If they could afford it.

An older lady met them at the door, white hair piled into an elegant bun atop her head. She had on horn rimmed glasses, a simple blue flowered dress, and her brown eyes sparkled as she held open the screen door for Sam, craning her neck to peer up at him.

"Well, aren't you a tall drink of water!" Her smile was genuine, and Sam couldn't help but smile back. "You must be Sam," she looked down at Dean, who had a duffle slung over his back, and a big grin on his face, "and Dean? Clarissa said y'all were coming."

"See? We should totally stay here! Everyone in this town is like…I don't know…awesome." Sam shook his head, and chuckled at Dean's inarticulate description.

"Well, that depends on how much it costs."

"Oh, now don't worry about that. Clarissa says you have a job in Coburn, and there ain't anywhere to stay over there, so you'll be staying here, simple as that. You can afford $20 a night? If not, I could take $10."

Sam's eyes widened. He'd had no idea it would be that affordable. Maybe Dean was right about this place. "No, it's fine, we can handle $20. Are you sure?"

"Yes, honey, I'm sure. Come on in now, I'll show you to your rooms."

Sam turned to Dean, who looked equally stunned, and silently mouthed _rooms?_ to his brother.

* * *

An hour later, Sam sat down at the table in his room and opened his laptop.

He looked around his room again, still finding it hard to believe that not only was his $20 a night paying for this beautiful room, but for Dean's equally nice room next door over. There was a large bathroom between the two rooms, and the doors were both open. He could hear Dean's TV in the other room, and his brother happily singing Metallica songs under his breath.

The room was nice. Hell, it was better than nice. Miss Lucille had given him "The Blue Room", so named because the walls were painted a soft powder blue. There was a wide window with white lace curtains on the wall across from the bathroom, and all the wood furnishings looked to be antique and were of a dark stained wood, Sam thought it might be oak.

What caught his attention was the massive bed. For the first time, in a very long time, Sam would sleep in a bed big enough for all 6'4" of him. No sleeping sideways across the bed here! The fluffy duvet and sheets were pure white, and there were accent pillows in the same shade as the walls. Normally, a room like this would have seemed very fussy, but here, it was simply warm and welcoming.

Dean came through the bathroom, still singing, and dropped some clothes on Sam's bed, then sat at the table across from his brother.

"Nice place, eh Sammy?"

"Yeah, it's pretty good. Especially for us."

"You're welcome."

Sam looked up. Dean had his legs crossed, his bare feet propped up on the table, and his hands behind his head. He had the _smuggest_ smirk on his face. Sam sighed. "Ok, ok, you were right, staying here was a good idea. You want an award or something?"

"Nope. You admitting it is good enough. Although I should make you do laundry or something for the next month."

"Yeah right. You don't let me do the laundry anymore because of that one time."

"Dude! You forgot the softener. My jeans were crispy!"

"Exactly." Sam winked at Dean.

"You did that on purpose?"

Sam burst out laughing. "That was three years ago, and you just now figured that out? Ha!"

Dean glowered for a moment, then sat up straight, Sam's laundry crimes apparently pushed aside.

"So the job?" Dean grabbed the notes Sam had made, and flipped through them.

"So Coburn has a house that was briefly used as a hospital during the Civil War. It sat vacant after the war, then was purchased by the town to use as a library in 1924. The first librarian noted that she felt a "presence" amongst the stacks, but the ghost seemed plenty friendly enough.

"Turned out, one of the original owners of the home was a college professor, and seemed to approve of his former home being used as a library. He worked the friendly ghost angle for years. Then in the last year, Coburn realized they couldn't afford to run the library anymore, and decided to turn the place into a clinic.

"Apparently, the ghost did not agree, and several of the construction workers had terrible, unexplained accidents, including the foreman being decapitated by an _encyclopedia_."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "An encyclopedia?"

"An encyclopedia."

"Hmm." Dean looked almost impressed. "So this looks like Casper the unfriendly ghost then?"

"Yeah, that's what I am thinking." Sam rubbed his eyes, tired of looking at the screen.

"So salt and burn?"

"Yup. Needed to find the grave of one Terrance Patrick Coburn, member of the original family that settled the town, and his grave is right behind Coburn's only church. Looks like it's going to be an easy one." Which was good, because now that they'd settled in, Sam realized he was just as exhausted as Dean.

"Ok, well I have a date, so I am gonna hit the shower." Dean hesitated a moment, like he was waiting for Sam to argue with him.

"Ok?"

"Yeah, I have a date." Dean almost looked a bit confused, like he wasn't sure what to do.

"So go on your date, then."

"You won't be mad?"

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Dude. Why would I be mad? Go, have fun, and stop acting so weird."

Still not looking convinced, Dean walked into the bathroom, pulling the door shut behind him.

"What the hell was that all about?" Sam asked the empty room.

* * *

She watched him leave, followed the trail of his pretty aura with her eyes as he walked up the street and back to the diner, although he seemed slightly troubled, like there was something else he'd rather be doing. He must be going to see Clarissa, she realized, and decided she needed to have a chat with the girl immediately.

She wouldn't have anyone else touching her property.


	2. Come to Me

Sam was in the middle of the best sleep of his life when he heard Dean in the bathroom. His brother was clearly sick, judging by the low moans followed by painful sounding retches.

_Probably drank too much again_ , Sam thought ruefully. He fumbled for the clock, noting that it was well after three, and groaned. There was a low moan followed by a soft thud sounding from the bathroom, and afraid that maybe Dean had passed out, Sam pulled himself from the bed to go check on his brother.

He tapped softly on the door, and called Dean's name, but there was no response.

"Ok, I'm coming in bro," he said as he pushed open the door, and found himself greeted with a pitiful sight.

Dean was curled on his side in front of the toilet, the blue throw rug beneath him bunched under his head in sort of a de facto pillow. He had his arms wrapped tightly around his middle and he was shaking like a leaf in a high wind. His face was white, beads of sweat clinging to his eyebrows and upper lip. His eyes tracked Sam as he came into the bathroom, but he didn't seem able to speak.

"Dude," Sam knelt beside him, alarmed at Dean's appearance. This is didn't look like a drinking-caused illness. "Are you ok?"

Dean weakly shook his head, then closed his eyes and swallowed hard, clearly trying to keep the nausea at bay.

"You're not drunk, are you? You're sick?"

Dean groaned. "Didn't...have a…drop…S'mmy…ugh." His voice was little more than a whisper and Dean swallowed hard again, his face turning an alarming shade of green, and Sam barely had enough time to hook his hands under Dean's arms and position his head over the toilet before his brother was sick again. Sam could feel the heat of a high fever radiating off of Dean's skin.

When he was done, Dean slumped back against the tub and looked up at Sam through pain filled eyes. Sam grabbed a washcloth and ran cold water over it, then knelt beside Dean, and wiped his face.

"You're a mess. What happened? Did you eat something bad? We had the same thing at the diner, so it can't be that."

"I dunno. Was out. Clarissa and I…didn't drink though. Just started feeling really horrible so I came back here. Feel terrible, Sammy."

"I can tell. Let's get you into bed. My room, I think, I want to be able to keep an eye on you."

Dean didn't argue, he let Sam get him up off the floor. He practically carried Dean into the next room and put him in his own bed. Sam carefully undid Dean's boots, and pulled off his jeans, then tucked the blankets up over Dean's still shivering form.

"Sa…Sammy?"

"It's ok, just relax, go to sleep, I'll be right here." Sam crawled into the other side of the bed, and was a bit surprised when Dean rolled over and laid his head on his shoulder. Dean sniffled, and wrapped an arm around Sam's waist.

"Don't leave me, Sammy," Dean snuffled.

"I'm not going anywhere, Dean, just go to sleep ok?" Sam awkwardly patted Dean's shoulder.

"Everyone…leaves me…Mom, Dad, Bobby, Cas…even you, Sammy…you left me…everyone leaves me, Sammy…don't…don't leave me…I couldn't…please…don't…and Cas…Cas. I screwed things up…all fucked up and…he doesn't understand…won't get a chance…fix it…I don't…" Dean's voice trailed off as he fell asleep, or possibly passed out, leaving Sam to wonder what all that had been about. Dean didn't open up much, and hearing him admit that he was afraid of everyone leaving him made Sam want to cry for his brother.

And the thing about Cas. He wondered what Dean had "screwed up" with the angel. There'd always been  _something_ between them, with the whole ridiculous profound bond thing, and the staring, and the lack of personal space, but Sam had always chalked it up to typical Cas and Dean weirdness.

But now he had to wonder.

And he'd known Dean was upset, especially after losing Bobby, hell, Sam wasn't dealing very well with that himself, but Dean always worked so hard to bury his emotions, and Sam was ashamed to say that on the rare occasions when Dean did open up, it always caught him off guard.

It upset Sam even more that it would take something like being sick for Dean to talk to him.

Sam studied Dean's face, relaxed and slack with sleep. Sleep was one of the few times Dean's face was smooth and unlined, vulnerable even, when the hunter's mask dropped and he was just Dean, just a guy, just a big brother.

Wishing again for probably the millionth time that he could take all of Dean's pain away, Sam snuggled down beside his brother, and fell asleep, both of them wrapped around the other like the little boys they once were.

* * *

Sam woke up to sunshine and sweat. He was completely soaked from sleeping next to the furnace that was Dean and his fever. He put a hand on Dean's forehead and was unsurprised that his brother was warmer than he was earlier.

"When you get sick, you do it right," he muttered under his breath. Sam pulled himself out of bed, and went over to Dean's room to dig through the duffel with their first aid supplies in it. Disappointed at the lack of analgesics, he realized he'd have to go out and get something to bring Dean's fever down.

Making his way back across the room, he sat on the edge of the bed and gently shook Dean's shoulder.

"Hey. Hey, Dean, wake up, come on."

Dean groaned and swatted at Sam's hand. "Go 'way," he grumbled. "Sleepin'".

"I know, but I am going out, and I need you to wake up and talk to me for a minute."

Dean grumbled some more, but propped one eyelid open and peered up at Sam with a fever bright eye. "What?"

"How are you feeling?"

"Like crap, dumbass."

"Yeah, I figured, but are you hurting? Stomach still upset? Hungry? Sore? Anything like that?"

"Never wanna see food again…"

"Ok, so stomach still bothering you then. Head hurt?"

"God yes. Like hell man."

"Are you congested? Stuffed up or anything?"

"Yes, Sam, I feel like my head's stuffed full of cotton and my brain's gonna explode, now can you fuck off and let me sleep?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "So sounds like a cold with a nice little virus attached. When did you start feeling bad?"

"Last night."

"Nothing before that?"

"No,  _Doctor Mom_ , nothing before that. Leave me alone." Dean rolled away from Sam, and buried his face back into the pillow, clearly indicating the conversation was over.

"Ok, well I am going to shower, then go get some stuff to make you feel better. Looks like you're going to get your wish to stay here awhile seeing as how you are clearly too sick to go anywhere. Good thing this place is so cheap."

Dean mumbled something incomprehensible into the pillow.

"I know, this isn't what you meant. Sorry Dean."

Dean grumbled again, and Sam gathered up his clothes for a shower.

Looked like this would end up being a solo salt and burn, but Sam was ok with that. It seemed like a fairly straight up simple job. He was more worried about Dean. He didn't get sick often, but when he did, he went down, and he went down hard.

As Sam let the water in the shower come up to temperature, he thought about the half-conscious confession Dean had made last night about being afraid everyone would leave him.

It was no wonder he felt that way, they'd just lost Bobby, and then Cas…and there was apparently more to that story than he knew, and besides, they did not talk about Cas. Dean had made that clear from the moment they left the hospital. It made Sam feel irrationally guilty and Dean just completely unhappy. It had been too close for Dean, Sam knew that, and his brother never talked about these things, just pushed them further under the rug.

If there was one thing, only one thing Sam could have in this life, it wouldn't be the normal apple pie picket fence dream he'd held onto for so long. It would be Dean, happy and content, with a life of his own. Sam didn't want the normal life for himself anymore. He wanted it for Dean. He wanted Dean to be able to relax, and stop feeling guilty, and to just live. To just be…

Sam cut his own thoughts off with a sigh. That would never be their lives, and the sooner he got used to it the better.

* * *

She watched from across the street, sitting on a bench at the very edge of Misty Fall's quaint park. She'd been watching Lucille's since sunup, waiting for the tall one to leave. She knew he would, his brother had to be needing something by now, the illness spell should have kicked in around midnight.

She didn't want to see her beloved sick, but she needed the big one out of the way so she could start moving her plans into place.

Shortly after nine, the tall man came out and got into the piece of crap they were driving and left.

She smiled as she rose from the bench, straightening the folds of her full skirt, and quickly crossed the street.

Letting herself into Lucille's, she quickly made her way up the stairs. The door to the Blue Room was slightly ajar, and she could see him, sound asleep amongst the pillows and fluffy duvet. She pushed the door open, and stood just inside the room for a moment, watching his chest rise and fall, listening to the only sound in the room, the gasp and wheeze of his labored breathing.

Crossing the room on silent feet, she stood over him, and stared down at him. It was the first time she'd been able to get so close. She'd cast the spell on him last night from across the room of the tiny pub he and Clarissa had gone to. He'd left shortly after, the effects of the spell kicking in quickly, and one look from her to Clarissa had been enough for her to know she'd gotten through to the girl.

This man was hers.

There was a small noise behind her, and she turned.

"Hello, Lucille."

"Cecile. Figured you'd show up here sooner or later. The illness is your doing I presume?"

"Of course."

Lucille sighed, crossing her arms across her chest. "CeCe, do you have any idea what you are getting into here? Do you have any inkling who these two boys are?"

"They're hunters. I know that much." CeCe ran a hand across the man's chest, making a pleased sound at the firm feel of his muscles. "But I never was much afraid of hunters."

"Happen to catch their names sister?"

"No."

"Well this is Dean. The other one is Sam." Lucille regarded her younger sister. "Ring any bells?"

"No. Should it?"

"Are you kidding me? Sam and Dean? Hunters? We on the same page yet? They're the Winchesters, CeCe!" That got her sister's attention. But instead of looking scared, CeCe's eyes lit up.

"Winchesters," she whispered reverently. "Sam and Dean Winchester, here in our little town. Well, that certainly explains a lot." Like Dean's beautiful glow, a direct result of being the chosen vessel for an archangel. And Sam's taint, ruined at six months old with a baptism of demon blood. CeCe wasn't turned off at all, if anything, it made her want Dean more than ever.

"CeCe, these two kill every supernatural thing that comes their way. You are asking for trouble little sister."

"Oh Lucille, don't worry. I know what I am doing.

Trust me."

* * *

Sam grabbed a basket just inside the door of the drug store, and made his way to the painkillers. He grabbed ibuprofen, Tylenol, and Thera-flu. Then he went over to the coolers, and picked up several bottles of Gatorade, lemon-lime flavor, which was Dean's favorite. He even grabbed his brother a couple of car magazines, and a Busty Asian Beauties.

He was standing in the check-out, paging through Super Chevy, when a familiar face caught his eye.

Clarissa was standing by the makeup display, pulling out various lipsticks and examining them. Sam slid the magazine back into his basket and walked over to her.

"Clarissa?"

She jumped and dropped the lipstick she was holding. "Sam! I didn't see you there, I'm sorry."

"It's ok," he replied, stooping to retrieve the dropped cosmetic.

"How's Dean? He wasn't lookin' so good last night. I was pretty worried about him."

"Yeah, he picked up a virus somewhere. He went down quick."

"Hmm." She took the lipstick from him and put it back on the rack. "I don't think he really wanted to be there anyway. Seemed like he was just goin' through the motions, to be honest."

"Yeah," Sam said slowly. He knew just what she meant. Dean had definitely been off lately.

"Anyway, I gotta go, I got a shift at the diner. Take care of yourself, Sam." She turned in the doorway of the drugstore, looking back at him, a strange, almost sad look in her eyes. "And keep watch over Dean, ya hear?"

She disappeared out the door, leaving Sam staring after her, and wondering exactly what the hell that had meant.

* * *

CeCe carefully ground the herbs in her marble bowl. She needed to do this quick, Sam could return any moment, but it had to be done right.

Soul magic was very dangerous, and she sure as hell didn't want to mess this up. Too much rode on her ability to perform the spell correctly.

Adding red wine to the bowl, she stirred it again, chanting in a low, guttural voice, the language of her ancestors, a weird mix of French and Haitian. Setting the bowl on the table, she withdrew a small silver blade from her bag, and made a quick slice on her arm, letting the blood run into the bowl.

The liquid inside bubbled briefly. It was time.

Carefully lifting Dean's head from the pillow, she slowly poured the potion into his mouth. He started to choke, and CeCe set the bowl on the bed, and closed his mouth with her hand. His body's instincts took over, and he swallowed twice.

Placing her hand over his forehead, she chanted softly, and he began to react immediately, limbs twitching in the sheets and his eyes rolling under his lids. When he finally lay still again, she stopped the chant, and cleaned up the residual potion that had collected in the corners of his lush mouth.

CeCe packed her supplies quickly, and made ready to leave, but she couldn't resist. Dean looked so beautiful lying there, and soon, soon he would be fully hers. Leaning down over the bed, she pressed her lips to his, enjoying the fullness, and the soft velvetiness of his skin.

"Soon, my love. You'll come to me, and we can enjoy this together," CeCe whispered softly as she pulled away.

She was out the door and back across the street by the park a moment later. And not a minute too soon, as the rust-bucket Sam was driving pulled into the spot in front of Lucille's.

Observing Sam silently as he unfolded himself from the tiny car, she again thought about how sad it all was, the taint that blackened his soul. Sam Winchester was truly a magnificent specimen of a man, and she would have loved to have kept him around Misty Falls as well, maybe give him to Lucille as a gift. But he didn't belong here, and he needed to leave.

It was up to Sam, however, whether he would drive away or simply disappear.

* * *

Dean hadn't moved from his spot on the bed, and Sam set his purchases down on the table with a sigh. His brother seemed paler than he had before, and he had to wonder how long this thing was going to keep him bedridden.

Dropping into a chair, Sam dug through his bag for the muffin he'd brought back with him, tearing the wrapper open with his teeth while he flipped his laptop open with his other hand.

For the next several hours, Sam worked, prepping for the hunt. Dean slept. Sam was able to wake him long enough to get some Gatorade and Tylenol in him, but Dean drifted right back off. Around six p.m., Sam woke Dean again, to let him know he was headed over to Coburn for the salt and burn, but Dean barely acknowledged him.

Sam packed all his gear with a sigh, then turned to look at Dean's sleeping form one last time. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss, that something wasn't right, but he couldn't put his finger on it.

Another sigh, and he was out the door, and down by the car, tossing his gear into the back. That weird feeling grew more intense, and he felt like he was being watched.

Raising his eyes, but not his head, he peered through the curtain of his hair across the street.

There was no one staring at him. Just a man and woman jogging with a couple of Golden Labradors and a black-haired woman in retro cocktail dress. She smiled at him, but kept walking.

_Seeing things that aren't there, Sam_ , he thought to himself as he unlocked the car door and slid inside.

* * *

"I'd do anything for you. You know that right?"

No answer.

"You have to know that. Whatever's going on, whatever it is, let me help you. Please?"

Still no answer, and his desperation grew.

"I just don't want you to do anything stupid. Believe me, I know a thing or two about doing something stupid. Just let me help you."

The man turned finally, blue eyes bright in the dark.

"You don't understand."

"Then help me understand! Tell me, Cas, don't do this, don't go running off and do something crazy!"

"I have to protect you. You don't understand, Dean. You'll never understand."

"Cas…"

_Dean._

_Dean._

_Come to me._

He jolted upright in the bed, soaked with sweat from the fever finally broken.

Disoriented, confused, he pulled himself from the bed, shaking off the remnants of the dream. Crossing the room to the window, Dean looked out into the night, moonlight casting a glow on the gardens below.

_Come to me, Dean. Come to me._

A fuzzy haze wrapped around his brain, and he wanted out of the room, he wanted to explore the garden in the moonlight. It was alluring, and the voice was calling him again.

_Come to me, come to my side. Come home, my love. Come to me, Dean._

He left the room, left the house. It was dark out, the streetlights and the moon the only things lighting the way.

The pull was irresistible. Already he was beginning to forget, the only thing left in his mind was the pull of the voice, the pull of her spirit. She was drawing him closer, and he walked up Main Street in nothing but his sweatpants and tee, moving slowly towards a large house at the end of the lane, and she's there, long flowing white gown, arms outstretched, raven black hair tumbling over her shoulders.

_Come to me. Come home to me._

Dean let himself in the gate, moved up the walk, climbed the porch stairs and fell into her arms.

And he forgot.

He forgot everything.

 


	3. Sleeping with the Enemy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a scene in this chapter that I absolutely consider non-con. It's not graphic, but it's there none the less.

She led him up the stairs and into her sumptuous bedroom. He was silent and his green eyes were foggy and confused, but that would get better in the days to come, and Dean would grow more used to the situation and interact with her. For now, in the early days of the spell, she would have to watch carefully to make sure he didn't slip and start to remember. It was vital that she keep Sam as far away from him as possible. Someone that important to Dean could cause the entire spell to shatter and the results could be…disastrous. For both of them.

Pulling him into the candlelit bathroom, CeCe divested Dean of his clothing and stood admiring his body, gorgeous expanse of tan and freckled skin, eyes openly raking over every curve and plane of his muscles, the jut of his hips, and the adorable slight bow to his long legs…among  _other_  things. Dean was absolutely perfect and she was extremely pleased. She'd made a very good choice.

The tattoo on his left pectoral muscle caught her eye, and she frowned. CeCe recognized the symbol of course, the pentagram surrounded in flames, the traditional charm for warding against demon possession.

He wouldn't need that any longer, he was under her protection now, and she hated to see Dean's perfect flesh marred in any way. Stepping forward, pleased to see that he didn't flinch or try to move away, just stood there docilely, she reached out and covered his tattoo with her right hand, chanting softly.

Ink ran down his chest in black rivulets, with a small stream of blood, and when she lifted her hand again, there was only a small red spot that gave any indication that the tattoo had been there at all.

"That's so much better," she smiled, but Dean didn't acknowledge her, or the missing tattoo. His eyes were blank, no twinkle in his pretty green irises, but CeCe knew that would return in time. She ran a hand down his left arm, pausing, her face wrinkling in confusion as her palm stopped on his upper arm.

There was something there. She couldn't see anything, but there was a heat, a pulsing…something. It was very strange, and very strong, but for the life of her, CeCe couldn't figure out what it was. Leaning closer, she moved her hand away and inspected every inch of skin on his bicep.

"So strange," she muttered to herself, eyes and senses revealing nothing. Sighing, she decided it wasn't worth worrying about.

"Come, darling," she murmured, taking him by the hand and leading him to the sunken marble bath in the middle of the room. Quickly sliding out of the gown she was wearing, CeCe stepped down into the tub, turning to reach for Dean's hand, pulling him down into the hot, lavender scented water.

Another pull on his arm, and he sat down in the tub. The confusion in his face was actually bothering her. CeCe would be very relieved when the spell fully took hold, and he'd be able to hold a conversation and interact with her and respond to her questions.

With a sigh, CeCe shifted until she was behind him, pulling Dean's back against her chest. "It's going to be alright darling." She soaked a washcloth in the water, then ran it over his head, wetting his hair. "In a few days, things will start to make more sense to you. And you'll start talking," she put a dollop of shampoo in her hand, then rubbed it into his hair, "and we'll go on walks, and we'll just enjoy each other's company." CeCe scrubbed Dean's hair, then rinsed him with the washcloth, careful to not get the suds in his eyes.

Next, she added lavender soap to the washcloth, gently running it over his shoulders, ignoring the strange sensation she got from that weird spot on his left arm. When she was done, and Dean was all clean, CeCe set the washcloth aside, and ran her hands across his arms, down his back, eventually letting her fingers drift around to the front of him, gently tracing his hip bones.

Dean shuddered, the first reaction she'd gotten from him so far, and turned his head slightly, as though he wanted to say something. He twisted his body far enough that she could see his eyes, and some of the fogginess left them, focus returning slightly, and CeCe could clearly see anger building beneath the last little bit of confusion.

"Wha-where…Sam?"

"It's fine," she whispered softly, "you're fine." She put her hand on his back and gathered her energy, chanting softly under her breath, and as she watched, Dean's eyes lost focus again, and he slumped back against her. "It's fine, everything is fine," she murmured.

CeCe wasn't worried. She'd performed this spell on many men throughout her extremely long life, and it wasn't unusual for breakthroughs to occur. They would lessen in the following days. It's not like Dean had anyone other than Sam to distract him anyway. There was clear evidence in his aura that he'd had a recent heartbreak, so whoever his significant other was, they were firmly out of the picture. Or at least far enough out to not be occupying Dean's thoughts anymore.

No, she comforted herself, it was just early days, and the spell hadn't reached it's full potential yet.

Humming happily to herself, she pulled her own wet body out of the tub, leaving Dean to soak a little while longer. In the bedroom, she slipped into a black silk robe, and moved around the room, lighting candles and pulling back the covers on her large four post bed.

Dean was staring blankly into space when CeCe returned to the bath, blinking slowly like he was fighting sleep. "Come my love," she smiled, holding out a hand for him. He looked up at her, the confusion still present, but did stand and take her hand, letting CeCe guide him out of the tub. She dried him quickly with a soft towel. "Time for bed, darling."

Moving back towards the bedroom, she waited to see if Dean would follow her, and was highly pleased when he did. She led him to the bed. He stopped, and turned, and there was fear in his eyes. "It's fine," she murmured in a sing-song-y tone, "just get into the bed, everything will be fine." His spine relaxed, the tension bleeding out again as she put her hands on him and guided him to the bed.

She laid him on his back, then slid her own robe off her shoulders, climbed up on the bed and straddled Dean's hips. He wasn't interested yet, his cock still soft and limp against his belly, but CeCe was going to get him interested. He was a man after all; they all wanted this. It was in their nature to seek it out, to find sexual gratification. It was hardwired into their basic makeup. Dean wouldn't be any different.

Sliding down his body, CeCe gently lifted his soft cock, stroking softly, and was almost immediately rewarded with a rush a blood, the flesh beginning to firm and harden. "That's it," she declared triumphantly, "men are all the same. You all want the same thing. And I'm going to give it to you, baby."

* * *

Four in the morning and Dean was nowhere to be found, and Sam managed to work himself into a solid state of panic. The salt and burn was as simple and easy as he expected it to be. The ghost had even thanked him for ending his misery.

It was the kind of job Dean would have loved and exactly what he could have used in the wake of all their current tragedies. Midnight found Sam puttering back into Misty Falls in a new rust bucket, since the other one died in Coburn, with the thought of getting a shower and crashing into bed. After checking on Dean of course.

Only Dean was nowhere to be found.

Sam's bed was empty, Dean's bed was empty, he wasn't anywhere in the house at all. Sam knew this because he'd woken Miss Lucille to make sure. She said she hadn't seen or heard him leaving, and seemed just as concerned as he did.

He'd driven through every street in town. He'd walked through the park. Checked the single bar in town.

His brother was gone.

Sam paced the floor of his room at Lucille's, tiredly dialing Dean's cell again. Just like the hundred or so other times he called, it rolled straight to voicemail.

"Dean? Where are you man? I'm starting to freak out. Please call me back. Ok?"

He set the phone back on the nightstand. Walking through the bathroom, he surveyed Dean's room again. Nothing was out of place. Everything was just how they'd left it earlier in the day. Moving further into the room, Sam switched on the overhead light. A reflection caught his eye, and he saw Dean's cellphone. It was poking out of the pants he had on the night of his failed date with Clarissa. Picking up the phone, he realized that the battery must have died.

Sam sank wearily onto the bed, holding the dead phone in his hand.

He had no one to call. Cas was locked up and practically a vegetable. Bobby was dead. Jo and Ellen were long gone.

They didn't have any friends left. He sighed and stared up at the ceiling, running a hand through his hair.

"Where are you Dean?"

* * *

The cabin was dark, empty, and smelled of ozone. The man in the trenchcoat stood staring out the window, his back turned to Dean, shoulders set in a straight line.

"Cas?"

He stared out the window a moment longer, then turned to stare at Dean in that way that always left Dean feeling exposed and naked.

"Don't do this."

"I have too."

"No you don't, we can fix this, there's still time. We can fix this Cas, I swear."

The other man stepped closer to him, blue eyes fierce and determined. He put a hand on Dean's shoulder, a gesture that should have been comforting, but just felt…scary.

"It's not broken, Dean," he growled quietly.

"Cas. This isn't you man. C'mon. I know you."

The angel turned away for a moment, and when he turned back to Dean, his eyes were cold and ferocious.

"You don't know me at all."

The cabin floor shifted under his feet, narrowing and disappearing in places until finally, the wood stretched into a dock, a chair at one end. Water, a lake, stretched out before him.

He was alone.

_Cas should…Cas…who?_

Thoughts of Cas slipped away, self-awareness slipped away, and once again, Dean  _forgot._

* * *

In the morning, when the sun shone bright through the windows in the bedroom, CeCe had her one and only trusted servant, Mrs. Housner, bring a tray of beignets and coffee to her room. She also had her remove all of Dean's old clothes with firm instructions to destroy them.

CeCe strolled through the room in her black robe, pulling the curtains back all of the way to let in the morning sun. Turning from the window, she swept her eyes over Dean's sleeping form. He'd rolled to his stomach during the night, the sheets slipping down to his waist.

He'd had a nightmare sometime overnight, she'd felt it, but had been able to redirect it, and she'd slipped into the dream quietly, watching unseen while he sat in a chair on the end of a dock, fishing pole in hand.

Dean had kept looking around though. He seemed to expect someone else to be there in the dream with him. Sam, perhaps? Despite her best efforts so far, she seemed unable to completely erase Sam's existence from Dean's subconscious.

Crossing the room, she perched beside him on the side of the bed, and ran a hand through his spiky hair. "Time to wake, my darling." She rubbed his back, and he stirred. Dean rolled onto his back and stretched, yawning. He sat up slightly, blinking in the bright sun, staring at CeCe in confusion.

Anger was brewing in his green eyes, so she sent a gentle pulse of her magic into the air, his body relaxing instantly.

"You are quite the challenge my darling. Going to make me earn you, aren't you? It's fine. I'm a very patient woman."

* * *

Sam barely slept, just dozing off and on between four and seven. He didn't know what else to do, it wasn't like he could really accomplish anything in a town that pretty much completely shut down at ten p.m.

Dean's phone had finally charged while he slept, and Sam scrolled through it, not finding anything useful, and just a bunch of missed calls from himself.

Time to get a shower and get out there and find his damn brother.

Sam made a mental checklist as he stood under the hot spray. Dean had been incredibly sick when he left for Coburn the night before. He'd barely acknowledged Sam's goodbye, prone on his stomach, eyes firmly closed. He'd been in no condition to even sit up and watch TV, let alone leave the boarding house, so that pretty much ruled out Dean being passed out in some girl's bed somewhere.

Which left only one assumption.

Someone, or  _something_ , got his brother.

Dressing quickly, Sam gathered his fake federal marshal badge and I.D. He hoped that Dean hadn't mentioned what he and Sam did for a living one way or the other. Most of the town already knew they had some kind of job in Coburn, hopefully Dean hadn't told them exactly what kind of job, and Sam would be able to work the marshal angle.

He spent the next several hours prowling both of Misty Fall's parks, stopping and talking to pedestrians and shop keepers, cops, firefighters, anyone out on the street, flashing the one picture he had of his brother. He went to the small hospital and asked after John Does. He visited the three small towns, Coburn included, surrounding Misty Falls, and their hospitals and parks, and talked to the citizens in those towns as well.

There's no trace. It's like Dean just disappeared off the face of the earth.

Sam stopped at the diner on his way back to Miss Lucille's, placing his order absently, and was a little surprised when the girl behind the counter passed him a large bag containing a piece of pecan pie, a double bacon cheeseburger with fries, and the Cobb salad he ordered, which was actually the only thing he meant to order. Force of habit, he supposed.

He sighed heavily and took the bag anyway. Back in his room, he ended up eating everything, realizing that he hadn't eaten all day. Sam didn't want to go to bed, but he didn't know what to do anymore.

As far as he could tell, Dean's gone. He's nowhere to be found in that town.

* * *

They end the day on the veranda, watching the sun go down behind the property, beams of light dancing across the pond.

Dean looks wonderful in the clothes she chose for him. He's wearing a simple white button down and khaki trousers, with dark brown leather shoes. Everything is vintage, from the mid-50's. It's the decade CeCe likes the best. She styled Dean's hair parted to the side, and he looks very much the gentlemen.

He's built like a model, the clothes all fit him like they were made just for him. She can't wait to get him really dressed up, and take him out on the town.

He isn't ready for that yet. He's still foggy and confused, although the moments of clarity where the old Dean Winchester shines through are becoming fewer and farther in between.

Dean's distracted now though, pushing a shrimp around his plate, wholly disinterested in his supper. CeCe frowns. He should be eating, and it would only be a simple push for her to make him, but…she didn't want to do that.

"Are you tired, love?" she asked.

He didn't answer, just stared down at his plate.

"Dean?"

Still no answer, but he stopped moving. As she watched him carefully, his hands began to shake, just a slight tremor at first, becoming more pronounced the longer she watched him.

"Dean, love, what's wrong?"

Finally, he looked up at her. A tear rolled down his left cheek.

"Where's…where's Sam?" His jaw trembled slightly, and CeCe inwardly groaned.

"It's fine darling," she soothed as she stood, "it's fine, you're simply tired, and it's time for bed now." She reached for his still shaking hand, but he yanked it away from her, standing so suddenly he tipped his chair.

The anger flashed in his eyes again. "No! Who are you? Where's Sam? Where am I? What the fuck?" Dean looked around him, eyes darting, taking everything in. CeCe surged her powers slightly, and Dean grabbed his forehead with both hands, doubling over in pain. "What are you doing to me?"

CeCe continued the surge. She didn't like doing this, it could hurt him, and it was seriously diminishing her powers.

Dean howled, she knew the pain in his head was increasing, and he sank to his knees. "Nggh! Fuckin'…fuckin' witch…what did you…what did you do to me?"

Another surge of power, another scream from the man on the floor, and he collapsed, rolling into the fetal position, finally giving up. She knelt beside him, gently petting his back.

"It's fine. You have to stop fighting me. Please darling, I don't want to hurt you. Stop fighting me."

Dean looked up at her with pain and tear filled eyes, and she could see the awareness leaving them. He softly whispered a name, she thought it might have been "Cas", then he lost consciousness.

* * *

Meg Masters wasn't what you'd call a good girl. Well the real Meg Masters was. The demon currently inhabiting her meatsuit? Not so much.

But the damn angel. He brought out feelings in her that Meg preferred not to examine too closely. Not that it mattered, seeing as how he was pretty much a potato these days, after going all heroic on behalf of one Sam Winchester.

Anyway, there weren't too many things in this world that could make a demon like Meg pretend to be sweet Nurse Masters day in and day out, no end in sight. She sure as hell wasn't doing it for the Winchesters. Truth be told, she wasn't sure she was doing it for Castiel.

Flipping the pages in her glossy high fashion magazine, nodding along to Marilyn Manson blasting out of the earphones, she almost didn't notice when the angel in question sat straight up in bed.

But she did notice.

Meg set the magazine down slowly, took her time removing the earphones and setting aside the MP3 player.

Cas sat stiff as a board, back rigid and straight, staring off into space.

"Clarence?" she asked softly.

He turned to look at her, fire burning in deep blue eyes.

"Dean's in trouble. He needs me."

"Okkkkk," Meg said slowly.

"Now."

 


End file.
